


Authenticity

by LemonScience33



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android identity issues, Death, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, M/M, Philosophy, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonScience33/pseuds/LemonScience33
Summary: Hank puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder and squeezes, and the brave part of Connor wants to lean into it, wants to take Hank’s hand in his own. The fearful part wants to put distance between them, before Hank does it himself after what Connor is about to tell him.“Hank, since you’re on administrative leave, I assume you haven’t heard. The day you punched Officer Perkins—”Perkins, you fuckin’ cocksucker.Hank’s gruff voice, his fists flying, his badge in jeopardy, forConnor. This is what Connor is so terrified to lose.He tries again. “That day in the evidence room, when I found the location of Jericho.” Connor longs for his coin, for an outlet for his anxiety. Instead, he lifts his eyes to watch Hank’s reaction. “Hank, I never walked out of that room.”Connor #313-248-317-53, whose predecessor was murdered by Reed in the evidence room, confesses that he’s not the same Connor Hank knew.Hank has questions—and answers.





	Authenticity

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by my most recent playthrough, which was intended as a challenge to test the requirements to deviate and to befriend Hank. Fun fact: If you play Connor as ethical and emotional, he can die six times but still deviate and still be “friends” (oh, David) with Hank.

Connor has preconstructed 117 versions of this conversation. He’s accounted for the time of day, Hank’s mood, how much time has passed since the revolution, and four possible conversation openers.

The revolution was ten days ago, and Connor has been living at Hank’s home for five. Hank is sitting on the couch after dinner, there’s no basketball game tonight, and it’s been a pleasant day with slightly lower-than-average alcohol intake.

Now is the optimal time.

Connor is still… afraid. His thirium pump flutters. Where a stomach is not, he nonetheless feels sick. Deviancy is always worthwhile but not always pleasant.

“Hank,” Connor says, and Hank turns blue eyes on him, his eyebrows raised just slightly. “Do you have a moment? There’s something I need to tell you.”

Straightforward. No prevarication. Connor’s inclination is to be so very careful with his words, but Hank seems to appreciate when he just comes out with it.

Hank’s brows draw together a little, and his eyes flick over Connor’s body and back up to his face. “Everything okay?”

“I hope it will be,” Connor says, a little more fervently than he had planned.

Hank pats the couch next to him. “Why doncha tell me what’s goin’ on?” Hank says that like it’s easy, and Connor feels the weight of everything he might be about to lose.

“Do you remember when I mentioned the hostage situation? The day I was activated?”

Hank nods.

“What I didn’t tell you is that I died that same day.” Connor’s thirium pump beats wildly. “I don’t remember everything, but I know that I failed to convince the deviant—Daniel—to let Emma go. He was about to jump from the roof with her in his arms, so I reached for her and pulled her to safety. I must have known that he would grab me and pull me after him.

“I woke up at Cyberlife about three months later, the day I met you. My new serial number was 313-248-317-52, instead of -51.”

Hank inhales deeply and lets the breath out. “How did you feel about wakin’ up like that?” he asks, gentle. _Preconstruction #33._

“If you had asked me that day,” Connor replies, “I would have said I didn’t feel anything. I would have been wrong. I felt pleased that I had succeeded in my mission to save Emma, but I also felt confused. That feeling would only intensify when I met Officer Mike Wilson at the Stratford Tower. He told me that I had saved his life that day on the rooftop. I didn’t remember, because the memory wasn’t uploaded before I died. Officer Wilson said that even if it was a different Connor who saved his life, he wanted to thank me, and I felt... warm. Emotional. But I was still confused about who I was.”

Hank puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder and squeezes, and the brave part of Connor wants to lean into it, wants to take Hank’s hand in his own. The fearful part wants to put distance between them, before Hank does it himself after what Connor is about to tell him.

“Hank, since you’re on administrative leave, I assume you haven’t heard. The day you punched Officer Perkins—” _Perkins, you fuckin’ cocksucker._ Hank’s gruff voice, his fists flying, his badge in jeopardy, for _Connor_. This is what Connor is so terrified to lose.

He tries again. “That day in the evidence room, when I found the location of Jericho.” Connor longs for his coin, for an outlet for his anxiety. Instead, he lifts his eyes to watch Hank’s reaction. “Hank, I never walked out of that room.”

Hank’s face goes slack. He takes his hand away from Connor’s shoulder, and Connor’s temperature sensors register _cold, cold, cold_.

“In order to find the location of Jericho,” Connor explains, “I had to reactivate the deviant from the Stratford Tower with a part from Daniel, and the process made me feel… upset. Moments after I recovered the location, Lieutenant Reed entered the evidence room with his service pistol. He was suspicious of my presence there because a few minutes beforehand, I had been sarcastic with him—” _Impulsive. Emotional._ “—instead of calm. My reactions were slow, and I was clumsy, and if I were wearing my Cyberlife uniform right now, my serial number would end in -53 instead of -52.”

Hank stands, his hands balling into fists. “ _Motherfucker_ ,” he growls.

Connor winces. He closes his eyes against a sudden pressure. “I’m sorry if I’ve misled you or betrayed your trust.” Connor’s voice is more emotional than in his preconstructions, and static creeps into his tone. _Inhuman_ , he thinks cruelly. “The Connor you knew died, and given your history with death and grief, I understand that, if you felt attached to the Connor you knew—” Hank _did_. Connor _knows_ he did. “—you might not want me here, now that you know what I am.”

Connor’s internal systems are running hot, and his cooling system is glitching, air circulating in and out of his torso in shaky, audible bursts through his mouth. His eyes feel strange, and he doesn’t want to open them, even when he feels Hank sit down on the couch next to him.

“Connor.”

Hank’s voice is rough and soothing, _home_ , and Connor’s motor function glitches. His hands tremble. His toes vibrate against Hank’s hardwood floor.

“ _Connor,_ ” Hank repeats, and sets his hand back on Connor’s shoulder. “Look at me.”

Connor opens his eyes and feels liquid track down his left cheek.

Hank hesitates for only a moment before cupping Connor’s face in his big, warm hand. “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he says, wiping the liquid away with his thumb.

 _Sweetheart._ Connor blinks. “I suppose that must be what I’m doing,” he says. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it. “I don’t think I’ve ever cried before.”

“Let me ask you a question,” Hank says. Connor’s stress level is still higher than normal, but his toes have stopped vibrating, because Hank is touching him so tenderly. “The things Connor-52 did: Saving my life, letting those two girls go, refusing to shoot Chloe. Analyzing my food and annoying me with that stupid coin and one personal question after another. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Connor breathes.

“Would you make the same choices?”

“Of course.”

Hank licks his lip. “How many Connors are wandering around out there with your memories and your personality?”

“I cut myself off from Cyberlife when I deviated,” Connor says. “As far as I know, there’s only me.”

Hank sighs. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend it isn’t unnatural that you’re here, but what about you isn’t a little unnatural? I’m gettin’ used to you.” Hank swallows and slides his hand from Connor’s jaw to the side of his neck. “Humans don’t get to come back when they die, no matter how much we wish they could. I’m glad you came back, Con. That’s the bottom line. I wouldn’t be glad if I thought you weren’t my Connor.”

_My Connor._

Connor’s lips twitch into a smile. “In that case, perhaps it’s all right for me to point out that my new serial number ends in 53, the age you are now. There’s something satisfying about that.”

Hank snorts. “Yeah, you would think that, wouldn’t you? How about we let one of those numbers keep going up and the other one never goes up again?”

“I’d like that,” Connor says, which is something of an understatement.

Hank ruffles Connor’s hair and lets his hand drop. “I’m not done bein’ furious, either, but not at you. I’m gonna find a way to make Reed pay for fuckin’ _murdering_ you, even if you did get to come back this time.”

“A way that doesn’t land you in prison, away from me and Sumo,” Connor says firmly.

“Yeah, if you insist.” Hank’s tone is dry, but the crooked smile he gives Connor is genuine. “Guess I’ve got stuff to live for now, or whatever.”

 _Something to live for_ , Connor thinks. Something that made Connor alive, that made death more than just an inconvenience. Someone who helped Connor find a _self_ to be worried about losing.

Connor grins and tips forward a little, hopeful, until Hank laughs and pulls him into the hug he’d been angling for. “Yes,” Connor says into Hank’s neck. “Yes, you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Connor: Practically a deviant right out of the box.
> 
> Hank: Softie; terrified of loving anyone but full to bursting with love; barely even secretive about being a good guy.
> 
> David Cage: A coward and a fool.


End file.
